I went to my first meeting of The Compassionate Friends last night. I cried basically through the entire meeting, but I’m glad I went. Most of us are fairly new in our grief, but there was a couple there who lost their daughter in 1989. I found it comforting to be around people who have experienced a similar loss and who are surviving it.
The group held a candle lighting service at the beginning of the meeting. TCF’s worldwide candle lighting memorial service is Dec. 11 - six months exactly since James died. I plan to go to a local church along with my home finder and agency worker to remember James with other bereaved parents.
If anyone feels so moved, please light a candle between 7 and 8 pm your local time on Sunday in memory of my sweet baby James. If you do, please snap a photo and message it to me - I will be grateful to know that other people are thinking about my boy.
We are not fine.
We are grieving the fact that our loved one will never be a part of our family celebrations again. The reminder of our loss is never as obvious as when we are surrounded by our extended family and friends, their families are whole and together. Our family has an obvious vacant spot and will never be whole without our missing loved one.
Just as the death of our loved one changed the way we look at life, the holidays will never be the same again without them there by our side.
My dog died yesterday day can you please write a small piece of snape comforting me
He doesn’t say a word. He just appears in the gloom of the darkened street and stands before you. You’re crying despite your best efforts to maintain your dignity, but he does not belittle you for it.
He steps closer to you, a look in his eye all that you need to nod and beckon for him to close the distance between you.
And then his arms are wrapped tightly around you, your nose buried in the folds of the rich, herbal scent of his robes and you breath in shuddering gasps filled with sorrow until there is nothing left to cry out and you feel oddly hollow inside.
“Thank you,” you croak, as he pulls away after the minutes pass and you slowly begin to feel a sense of peace, though your sorrow is still there, waiting.
He gives you a look, an almost-smile that is more sadness and pain than an expression of joy, then turns and strides a short distance off before Disapperating with a loud CRACK.
Shoving your hands deep in your pockets, you turn and head for your home. The loss is deep and pains you, but it’s muted by the memory of the scent of him pressed against you in comfort and the thought of the security you found in the pressure of his arms wrapped around you.
You’re not fine, and perhaps you never will be, but your heart has been relieved of some of the burden and you know now that you will be able to bear it.
I think the hardest part of losing someone isn’t having to say goodbye but rather learning to live without them. Always trying to fill the void the emptiness that’s lost inside your heart when they go.